Tag: grief

All Soul’s Day

For Grandmom June 26, 1915-November 4, 1994 I was born into a golden dream of an old woman’s heart. She held me when others could not, rubbed my ear, whispered lullabyes, rocked me hard or soft. I thought I’d always be her doll. What I held for granted vanished that November, all the gold in … Continue reading “All Soul’s Day”

For Grandmom
June 26, 1915-November 4, 1994

I was born into a golden dream
of an old woman’s heart.
She held me when others could not,
rubbed my ear, whispered lullabyes,
rocked me hard or soft.

I thought I’d always be her doll.

What I held for granted vanished
that November, all the gold
in the world could not have saved us.

My turn to whisper, then, holding
her rosary in both our hands,
my incantations some lament
I could not name. I thought she’d always
be mine to love. Our souls surely rested
together in  worlds that do not end.

What would I trade
for one more moment
in the corona of her love,
science of her affection,
calculation of her black pen
working problems in ink
until I understood what ‘x’ equaled?

I would always be her doll.
We could pack the car again,
drive out into the night,
just over the speed limit,
me in my pink seersucker skirt,
her with a map and quarters
enough for any toll.

What river could we not cross,
to get back on that highway
that lasted beyond night?

 

tags: grandmothers, love, grief

 

Orders

what did I mean to save that day I stood pounding your chest, fired by urgency that was not love but habit a current that ran once? I felt it for years even after it had stopped and you could not deliver what did I hope would return to life that night with my desperate … Continue reading “Orders”

what did I mean to save
that day I stood pounding
your chest, fired by urgency
that was not love
but habit
a current that ran once?
I felt it for years
even after it had stopped
and you could not deliver

what did I hope would return
to life that night
with my desperate pleas
my counted breaths
my lips pressed hard
to yours, together

what was left
in the cold spaces
between us, the disruption
like Arctic air pushed south
to Tampa. We were tangled
up in wires

if only I had shut off
that device, the one that jolts
me awake lonely nights
when I reach across a smooth sheet
for your rough hand
closed into a fist
you will never open

key words: DNR, love, grief, poetry, Janice Lynch Schusterleaves on fire

What Fire Was Like

    What we needed, we did not want. What we wanted, we did not need. Whatever safety I sought in you Did not exist there. We were in a cold room, two sticks for hearts. When they rubbed together, some kind of furious dance, a spark, ignited the bed, set the house on fire. … Continue reading “What Fire Was Like”

 

 

leaves on fire

What we needed, we did not want.
What we wanted, we did not need.
Whatever safety I sought in you
Did not exist there.

We were in a cold room, two sticks
for hearts. When they rubbed
together, some kind of furious dance,
a spark, ignited the bed,
set the house on fire.

There is no joy in melting
into the other. No self in the end,
no sense of what made
us whole—or what we made.

The skeleton frame of the house
stood still, smoldering and terrible,
while we watched, our hands seared
by nothing we could touch.

key words: Janice Lynch Schuster, poetry, divorce

Tough Love

We bury our children whole. All the tools and love In our hands spun out Of our control, destroyed What we meant to flourish. There is no going back From this pile of rocks And dirt under which bright Lives remain, suffocated and lost. We invented our poisons And failed to estimate The caustic profits, … Continue reading “Tough Love”

We bury our children whole.
All the tools and love
In our hands spun out
Of our control, destroyed
What we meant to flourish.

There is no going back
From this pile of rocks
And dirt under which bright
Lives remain, suffocated and lost.

We invented our poisons
And failed to estimate
The caustic profits, unintended
Consequences, wages of pain.

We had no idea, really,
What we were doing,
And pretended.
We could not end it,
Even with all our weight
Behind it, and our hearts
Dragging in the mud.

So here, we bury another child
Who, for all our pain,
Could not endure
This world.

That Would Be singing

We had gone as far as the road Could take us. We’d come to other forks, Made up our minds, made do. This place, though, we gave up Our fancy machines and traveled On by foot. Sometimes, we still laughed, Caught our breath at wonders That came our way. When we had to, we raised … Continue reading “That Would Be singing”

We had gone as far as the road
Could take us. We’d come to other forks,
Made up our minds, made do.

This place, though, we gave up
Our fancy machines and traveled
On by foot.

Sometimes, we still laughed,
Caught our breath at wonders
That came our way.
When we had to, we raised
Our voices to the wind
As if it might change direction.

While we had each other,
We were never lost. Even when night
Worried us, or we faltered.
We held each other steady.

But at this stopping point
The path is only wide enough
For one to go, one to follow.

I will take the light, you say,
Wait here, I will clear a way.
I can hear you sing
One old tune we both could carry.

Then silence, so I pick up
Where you left off.
The only way out
Is through. We will meet 
In the end.

January Drifts

We will not gather here again. You slip through time, I stand On a vacant shore. Your small boat Catches waves, drifts, swells, Whitecaps and breakers. We might once Have toyed with these, or, toppled, righted. Anymore, we are stranded. I haven’t arms To keep you afloat. All our terrors, Our worried minds, our loves– … Continue reading “January Drifts”

image

We will not gather here again.
You slip through time, I stand
On a vacant shore. Your small boat
Catches waves, drifts, swells,
Whitecaps and breakers. We might once
Have toyed with these, or, toppled, righted.
Anymore, we are stranded. I haven’t arms
To keep you afloat. All our terrors,
Our worried minds, our loves–
We kick them off, like heavy shoes.
We tread, we huddle, we drift
So long we feel like creatures
Of the sea, hardly able to breathe.
The currents move so quick,
The horizon always shifts.

That Would Be Singing

We had gone as far as the road Could take us. We’d come to other forks And made up our minds, or made do. Here, though, we gave up our fancy machines And stumbled on, by foot.  Sometimes, we had stopped to laugh Or catch our breath at wonders That came our way. When we … Continue reading “That Would Be Singing”

We had gone as far as the road
Could take us. We’d come to other forks
And made up our minds, or made do.
Here, though, we gave up our fancy machines
And stumbled on, by foot.

 Sometimes, we had stopped to laugh
Or catch our breath at wonders
That came our way. When we had to,
We raised angry voices to the wind,
As if it might change direction.

We had the latest gadgets,
Which told us where we were,
Thirty-feet, more or less.

Since we had each other, we claimed
We were never lost. Sometimes night
Took us by surprise,
And when we faltered,
We held each other tight.

Here at this stopping point
The path is only wide enough
For one to go, and one to follow.
You take the light, I say,
Since you insist on clearing a way
And leading me with that one good hand.

For a bit, I hear you sing
A little tune, and I hum along.
Then you see something ahead,
And you hurry. I don’t.

Wait here, you say. I’ll check this out.
And though the unknown
Has long worried me,
You are fearless.

I wait.

I kiss your dry cheek
And watch you fade
Through an opening.

Cry though I might,
I cannot get you back.
Nor can I turn around.

I’ll stand a while,
Perplexed,
Before I move along.

4,-A-path-in-the-shade-of-trees-site

Oil painting by Ryutaro Ikeda.

key words: dying, loss, grief